Intertwining
by Palia
Summary: She kept Voldie alive through his darkest days, though thier fates were twistedly intertwined long before that. See how Nagini entered Riddle's life, and why she chose to shed her human skin for another.


A/N – the inspiration for this story to fall into place was The Broken Victory by Kate Lynn. Her Tom is the best interpretation ever, and inspired me to write this little fic to its completion. So, um…any good Tom stuff came from her, lol. 

***

**Chapter 1: Flickers of the Past**

_His form is frail. In the shadowed halls, I see him lean. I know he hates to do so, even in front of me. Should that thing Wormtail be here, he probably wouldn't. His strength is amazing at times, when it needs to be. I'm warmed that he feels comfortable enough with me to do so, even for a moment. _

_Or perhaps, he doesn't see me at the moment._

_I keep out of his way now; I know he's busy. I understand him – well, the part of him that he is willing to share. It is closer than any get, and for that, I will always see the rest of the world a little lower. Not in real condescension, though. Not even pity…perhaps a bit of envy. They are so simple; I could never be like that._

_But then, I had made my choice. And as I stare at him, seeing past the creaking, dripping halls upon which he rested his bent, twisted form, I know I would do so again. I know, as I gaze upon him with my black orbs, seeing through the red but not ignoring it. It all makes him up._

He had been a scrawny orphan. In truth, I'd stared at him that first day, dripping wet and shivering like the rest of us, nervous to place upon us the Hat. I hadn't found him that appealing…I doubt any honestly could. We were eleven, and besides…he was atrociously pale and raggedy. But his eyes caught mine, and I saw strength there. I could respect that. I found it fascinating. Whatever else, I would always find him that.

I know, fascinating shouldn't go with Hufflepuff in any capacity. We were aware of the stereotypes even then. Fortunately, our House was more rounded than that…as it was later, seen in the deceased Diggory. 

I slid around the Hogwarts of the past with much less fanfare. I received none of the drooling glory or scorned hatred of one such as Harry Potter. My pale countenance must have melted in with the air, and my dark hair shadow into the stone walls, for I often seemed indistinguishable from nothingness. It took time for me to see this as a benefit. 

Tom received no scorn to my eyes. Yet, it seemed clear to me he was dealing with something. Years passed, and an evolution took place before my eyes. I wondered how no one else saw it – or, perhaps they didn't care to ponder it. But I did. Slowly, his voice came to hold a more respectable accent. The scuffs faded from his shoes, his clothing somehow polished into a perfect fit. I wondered if why he was so adept at Transfiguration wasn't because he practiced so much at transforming himself. Yes, there's a difference between teaching one's self to speak properly, or learning how to alter clothing, and questing for immortality.

And yet…the difference wasn't all that great.

He stood out, by sheer will and inborn ways. Magnetism radiated from him, but that wasn't what drew my eyes up from my books as I sat slunked down in the corner of the library. It was rather what he didn't show, the restraint that was always lurking in his blue eyes. He spoke, and I wondered what he didn't say. He would laugh, and I'd question why. It never reached his eyes.

This process wasn't solely focused on Tom Riddle. Even as a child, I'd stare at my parents, wondering what wasn't said as we sat in silence at the breakfast table. There was some connection between them that I never quite understood. It needed no words; it simply existed, though I longed to unravel its meaning. However, the second I would try, the meaning would be lost. There was a worshipfulness my father directed at my mother, perhaps for her beauty which I didn't possess. I wasn't rounded right, I wasn't tall. Skinny and frail in build, though I little cared. I existed in my mind. 

Dumbledore fascinated me, though he did that to many. But even my peers, the ones who seemed dull, never failed to amaze me, even if it was for the sheer fact that they seemed so wooden or shallow. Life itself was fascinating, and I loved working in it. My mind encountering reality in any way was something I'd never tired of, though at times it seemed as if it would be easier that way.  But none were a mystery like Tom.

_Oh, he's moving…he's sitting. He has a very straight posture. He always had. Even that one time I'd made him smile._

It had been in class, in our fifth year. I sat in front, in the second row – it probably didn't bother anyone else, since they seemed to be able to see right through me. He sat ahead and to the left, leaving me just behind his right shoulder. 

Behind both of us sat Myrtle, who was gathering her things to leave. Her class with Binn's had just ended, and as usual I was early.  I heard her faint snivels, and couldn't help glancing back. I did feel sorry for her. Already settled, I focused on her faint words, tuning out the other clatters as fellow Hufflepuffs and Slytherins entered the classroom.

"Always makes fun of me…teasing me…"

I didn't know who she was referring to this time. Many people seemed to tease Myrtle; or at least, she seemed to feel that way. But I had seen it happen. I knew she was sensitive enough to take almost anything as harsh. I did feel indignant on her behalf, and amazed that no one seemed to realize this quality about her. Yes, she was annoying, but her other characteristics, her insecurity and suspicion, needn't be so toyed with. She turned and left, her back shaking. Though I didn't know if I was so hardened that I would have done so in her position, I quietly said, "trip the person next time."

A snort came from in front of me. I turned, wide-eyed, my heart thudding a brief bit louder. His straight back was turned to me, so it was hard to tell whether it had been him or not. But he was the only one sitting quietly, and I didn't doubt his ability to catch what happened around him. 

What makes one laugh always intrigued me. Similarly, one who can make me laugh catches my attention. I longed to make eye contact then, just to judge, to see if it was so with him. 

But we didn't have words until months later, when a dead girl hushed the grounds, and a mystery took on a frightening reality. 

The school was gathered in the Great Hall the day after Myrtle's death. A solemn feeling rose, one that was tinged with giddy excitement. In such situations, it was common for uncertainty and fright to hang in the air, so vast and weighty it almost took on form. Tom stood at the head of the room, beside the lumpy form of Dippet. The old man swayed, a hand upon Tom's shoulder to steady him. His favorite student clearly brought him comfort. At his other side, in direct contrast to the Headmaster's bearing, was Dumbledore. The Deputy Headmaster's face was twisted with concentration and confliction just seething beneath the surface. I noticed, if no one else did. It made sense, for one of his Gryffindor's was threatened. The only one whose face was at all a mystery to me was Riddle's.

His arm was bandaged from the fight with the monster of Salazar. Blue eyes slightly glazed with exhaustion and possibly healing drugs, he nonetheless stood firm. But I noticed he never met the Deputy Headmaster's eyes. His own were reddened –

_Like now.__ Only, not slitted. But still, always they burned with fire and energy. I would come to understand it in part. _

I didn't understand it right then. Though, as his eyes seemed to settle on mine for a brief moment, and seemed to actually take me in, the incredulity of someone doing that almost made me miss the next words by Dippet.

"And, I regret to say…but Rubeus Hagrid will not remain at Hogwarts. He is hereafter expelled, and his wand revoked, in light of the tragic circumstances that have plagued our school…even if by his 'unwitting' hand." 

I suspected that last part was said because of Dumbledore. I wasn't shocked – for what other choice did Dippet have? Nor was I outraged immediately. I soaked it in quietly, musing it, though my eyes couldn't help but fall upon Hagrid. He was truly a simpleton in some ways, but…fascinating, of course. He did possess a good heart. An emotional response of empathy did come, and I let it wash over me, giving him a weak nod that he probably didn't see. It would do no good anyway. Soon, the feeling left as I was swallowed up in the crowd, intellectual confusion taking its place.

Filling out of the Hall, I couldn't help but murmur to myself, "It doesn't add up…it just doesn't."

"Pardon?" 

A slightly strained voice caught me, the cadence so familiar from hearing it answer questions in class. I froze, taking a moment before letting my gaze lead up to his. Against all previous conceptions and reason, he was looking down at me. He seemed slightly strained, much like my voice as I said back, "pardon?"

His eyes, guarded though a bit cloudy, snapped out of sounding strained.  "I just couldn't help overhearing you…" At my still response he seemed to think for a moment before adding, "Apocrypha, right?" 

He knew? His memory must be amazing, for I rarely heard my name. Part of me still couldn't believe it, and I responded back, "Erm…yes." I was guarded, but couldn't help but desire to prolong the conversation. 


End file.
